


When You’re Busy Making Other Plans

by ddpoweredbycoffee



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Epilogue of Show, First Time, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Aziraphale, Male Crowley, Sort Of, Top Crowley (Good Omens), just a little because these two are just too soft and precious for this world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-10 00:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19487365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddpoweredbycoffee/pseuds/ddpoweredbycoffee
Summary: Armageddon is cancelled and Crowley and Aziraphale are safe from Heaven and Hell- what now?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write because I just love these two and their relationship- ineffable husbands, indeed- and I thought I’d whip this up as something just a little more. 
> 
> Full disclosure- I am completely in the Service Top Crowley and (slightly) Power Bottom Aziraphale camp, so get ready for that. 
> 
> Please enjoy and feel free to leave comments/kudos if you do!

Crowley downs the last of his champagne and tosses enough cash on the table to cover their bill plus a very generous tip. Why not? It’s not like he had to actually earn it anyway. 

Aziraphale, sufficiently plump with lunch only the Ritz could provide, broadly grins.

“So, my friend, what do you plan to do with the rest of your eternity?” he inquires and dabs at his mouth with his napkin.

“Hmm?”

“Eternity- any plans?”

Plans? It was only a few days ago they were staring into utter oblivion. He didn’t think he really had time to do much of anything- let alone make plans for a future that was hanging by a fraying thread. Not to mention right after that he was facing extinction by holy water. If not for a 300-year old book, he would have been nothing more than a wisp of demon smoke dissipating into the stale stench of Hell. Plans? Plans?

“Uhum, no, not particularly,” he answers.

“In that case, I have a remarkable bottle of 1947 Cheval Blanc if you’d care to join me back at mine,” Aziraphale offers; the hope in his voice is unmistakable.

Crowley shrugs.

“Sure, why not.”

Aziraphale claps his hands excitedly together.

“Splendid!” 

Crowley ignores the odd feeling blooming in his chest at his joy. He hasn’t felt quite himself since they swapped bodies to thwart the wiles of Heaven and Hell- it’s similar to the sensation of having one shoe tied just slightly tighter than the other. Nothing more alcohol can’t fix he concludes and follows the angel out of the restaurant.

The bookshop even seems different now. Brighter, maybe? The stale smell of decaying paper remains, but the books themselves are impeccably clean for their age. The antichrist was just a boy, after all- can’t expect him to get everything exactly the way it was. Either way, it makes him want to come out of his skin.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale announces and hands him a glass generously filled with rich Bordeaux.

“Thanks,” Crowley takes it and downs a large gulp.

“So? What do you think?” the angel asks. 

It’s alcoholic- that’s all he needs right now. He actually would’ve preferred a glass of something brewed in the washtub of a backwoods cabin- much higher proof- but this will do.

“S’good,” he says instead, and the angel beams.

Crowley ignores the way his blush pink lips stretch softly around the row of glistening teeth. The angel dives into the history of the wine- something about bad weather and technical failures and the taste could never be replicated or whatever. He’s not listening, or rather, he can’t listen- not with all this ringing in his ears. Why are his hands all tingly? Is he having a stroke? Can demons have those? And why are his feet shifting around like he’s at the damn disco? Think about something else, anything else. He glances back at the angel.

Aziraphale is the same. Not just his body, though that is something young Adam got spot on. He still has his platinum curls and ridiculous bowtie. His round cheeks are still forever tinted the same shade as his lips and his blue eyes still hold a hint of grey- and then there’s that adorably subtle curve to his tummy beneath his vest-

Crowley shakes his head. Anyway- his behavior is the same, as well. He’s as bubbly and giddy as ever- like the world hadn’t almost come to an end. 

“What about you?” Crowley asks after emptying his glass. 

Aziraphale pauses his story with a quizzical look.

“What about me what?” 

“Plans? Have you got any plans?” 

The angel releases a puff of air as he thinks for a moment. 

“I have been meaning to pop over to Egypt for a bit. I have sources who say there’s a man there with original scrolls from the lost Library of Alexandria-“

Crowley growls in frustration.

“Books?!” he snaps. “Is that all you care about- books?”

The wrinkle in Aziraphale’s brow deepens.

“Is it so deplorable to enjoy books?”

Crowley huffs and sets down his glass before he sends it across the room.

“Haven’t you ever wanted anything, you know, more?” he tries.

Aziraphale gives a small shrug.

“I suppose I could travel more around France. I haven’t been since the -um- incident - and it’s been centuries since I visited Marseille. Oh! I wonder if that lovely little cafe is still there-“ 

“Zira! No- I mean more with -er- people,” Crowley clarifies.

“People? What do y-“

It’s now or never. 

He lunges forward and grabs the angel’s startled face with both hands, smashing his mouth forcefully against those taunting lips. It’s only a brief, blissful moment before he’s shove away with surprising strength.

“What the hell are you doing?” Aziraphale shouts.

He barely catches his breath. 

“I want something more with you, you daft angel! I have for so long,” Crowley confesses. “I just thought we’d have more time, but then the whole business happened with the baby-switching and Armageddon-“

For the first time he watches as Aziraphale’s cheeks drain of their color.

“Crowley, what on Earth are you saying?” he breathes, his eyes wide.

“I’m saying l love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice cracks on his name.

There’s a long silence- neither one daring to move, risking to breathe. Finally, the angel says,

“Get out.”

It’s as if Crowley has been splashed with holy water.

“What?”

“Get out,” Aziraphale repeats.

Crowley steps forward, hands outstretched and grasping at the invisible thread unraveling between them.

“Zira-“ 

“Don’t,” the angel warns and takes a step back. 

He pounds a fist on the cover of a book.

“How dare you!” Aziraphale seethes, his eyes glossing over. “How dare you do this to me!”

Crowley’s mind swirls frantically- around and around the drain to the ninth circle of Hell. A strangled sob escapes the angel’s throat.

“Please just go.”

His words pierce through Crowley’s chest, leaving a gaping, ragged wound. Unsure, or rather- unable- to do much else, he spins around and snaps his fingers. The door to the bookshop flies open. When, he’s through, he snaps again, and the door slams behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days and three nights- that’s how long it’s been since Crowley’s row with Aziraphale, and he’s been drinking solidly through all of them. He sits in the red velvet throne in his study as still as one of the sculptures in his collection. A small patch of sunlight streaming in from a high window slices through the darkness and glitters over the pile of empty bottles strewn across the desk.

Crowley replays the scene over again and again in his head as if it might change anything, but it always ends the same way. He feels- hollow- like someone took a dull spoon and scooped out what little of him there is left in this body. 

How could he have been so foolish? How the hell did he expect Aziraphale to reciprocate his feelings? He growls and takes another swig from the near-empty bottle in his hand. These bloody feelings. It’s already so difficult to make any sense of them in oneself, but it’s another thing entirely to do so in others. 

They had been friends for 6,000 years- 6000 years! Why couldn’t he just be happy with that and get on with his life after this whole damn Armageddon business? Oh, because he thought he might love him back? Well of course he does, idiot, he’s an angel! That’s what he does! But he was too foolish...too blind to the fact that he could never love him the way...

Crowley swallows at the lump in his throat and takes another drink to wash it down. 

The way he needs him to.

He launches the bottle in his hand at the wall and it explodes into a million tiny shards. The plants tremble in response.

“Shut up!” he snarls over the rustling leaves.

This may be the first time he’s moved more than just to uncork another bottle since he burst through the door three days ago. He was so full of rage, then- at himself, at the Earth, at the whole bloody ineffable plan- the bits of pottery and soil scattered along the floor were evidence of that, but now he’s just...empty. 

For 6000 years he’s lived among humans and has loved every single minute of it, but if he’s honest with himself, truly honest, it has been solely because he shared each of them with Aziraphale. He wanted to save the world not to preserve all the earthly pleasures he’s grown accustomed to, but because if he lost Earth...he would lose Aziraphale, too- his closest and dearest friend...and the angel he loves.

Ah, but he didn’t need help from Armageddon to take Aziraphale away, no, he’s done a rather bang up job of that on his own. There was something the angel said to him once- how did it go...

Evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction.

And now he knew, with certainty, it was true.

Crowley buries his face in his hands. What has he done? If only he could go back to that afternoon and see Aziraphale off to Egypt and wait for the time their paths would inevitably cross again. It’s how things had always been and it worked for them, for the most part. Sure, his love for the angel would still be a secret, but at least he would still have him as a part of his existence. Now, however, he’s facing an eternity alone. Perhaps it would have been more agreeable to sit in a bath of holy water. 

Crowley sighs and knocks his head back against the throne. He’s contemplating opening another bottle when a timid voice echoes from the hallway.

“C-Crowley?”

Crowley’s heart jumpstarts in his chest. He could always recognize that voice. 

“Crowley?” it calls again.

He’s sure it’ll only be a matter of time before he wakes up in a puddle of his own drool next to a pile of various liquor bottles. His mind must be playing tricks. That is until he feels him. It’s a subtle warmth that sinks in all the way down to his bones. There is no mistaking he’s actually here.

Crowley pops up from his throne, a little too quickly he might add, and catches himself on the desk. His foot knocks a pile of bottles, creating a horrid crash that throbs painfully in his skull. 

“Crowley?”

He needs to sober up- he can’t face Aziraphale like this. He squeezes the alcohol from his blood and refills the remaining bottles. He ignores the acrid taste in his mouth and hurries to the hallway.

Crowley rounds the corner and at the end of the long, plant-lined corridor stands Aziraphale. The angel’s hands clasp and unclasp in front of him multiple times. He squirms under his gaze.

“Zira?” Crowley croaks.

“Yes, Crowley, it’s me,” he calls down the hallway. 

There’s a pause as they both just stand there, not sure what to do.

“Oh, um, lovely plants you have,” the angel compliments while taking a few steps closer. “They are truly exceptional!”

“What do you want, Aziraphale?” Crowley grumbles in spite of the flutter in his throat. 

Aziraphale takes another few steps forward. His brows are scrunched together over his large eyes. It’s a rare occasion when Crowley can resist that look.

“I don’t like the way we left things the last time we spoke,” the angel states.

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest and clenches his jaw to steel himself.

“If I remember correctly, it wasn’t my choice to do so.”

Aziraphale visibly winces at the bite in his tone. He continues.

“I’m here to explain.” 

“Why? I thought you made yourself quite clear.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it- he’s never seen the angel look so wounded.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Crowley,” he nearly whispers. “In truth, nor with myself.”

Crowley swallows at the hope choking at his throat. 

“No?” he croaks.

“No, I haven’t. My whole existence has revolved around what I thought a proper angel should be, and I thought being a proper angel meant always doing as I’m told,” Aziraphale says. “It was an undeniable truth for me, but defying heaven to fight for this world by your side has given me so much doubt-“

He glances down briefly and swallows. 

“You and I have been on separate sides for so long it grew easier and easier to deny myself what I wanted most,” he sucks in a shaky breath. “But sides don’t exist for us anymore, and all we have now is each other...”

The anger and hurt drains out of Crowley completely. His ears ring in anticipation for the words he prays to hear. 

“What I’m trying to say, Crowley, is that I love you,” Aziraphale finally reveals. “And that I do want more from my existence here, with you.”

The elation flooding Crowley’s body sends his heart racing so fast he’s sure it will lift him off the ground, but there’s still something nagging in the back of his mind.

“Then why did you send me away?” he asks.

Aziraphale turns his palms up to him in response. 

“I was afraid- I had told myself for millennia that it was impossible what I wanted- needed- with you and suddenly it was right there staring me right in the face and I- panicked.”

He sighs. 

“I was also afraid that it was one of your many torments,” the angel confesses. “I thought maybe you had found out the truth and decided to use it against me.”

“Why on Earth would you think I could do that to you?”

Aziraphale gives a small shrug.

“You’re a demon- it’s what you do.”

The angel then meets his gaze with words balanced on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m also here to ask you-“ he pauses for a breath. “-to ask you whether or not you meant what you said.”

Moisture wells up in his eyes.

“Because I don’t think I could bare it if you didn’t,” he whispers.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley breathes, and he’s closing the space between them in long strides. 

He takes Aziraphale in his arms and dives right into his lips to convey everything he could never in words- though he still tries anyway.

“I love you more than this rock called Earth and everything on it, Zira, Heaven and Hell be damned,” he pants and dives in again. 

“Thank goodness,” Aziraphale says against his lips. “I was hoping you might say something like that.”

Crowley soars at the hum of his soft, stifled laugh. It sounds like salvation. 

“Crowley, there’s...something else I’d like...to ask you,” Aziraphale barely manages between hurried kisses.

“I will do...anything...you ask of me, angel,  
...anything at all...if it means having you here...in my arms,” Crowley pants. “I am your disciple.”

“Well...I hope you don’t think...I’m being too forward...considering we’ve never...been on a proper...date-“

Crowley halts his attack and stares as if he were speaking in tongues.

“Zira, we may have begin lying to ourselves, but we’ve practically been dating for 6000 years.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to stare.

“Good gracious,” he breathes. “I suppose you’re right, come to think of it.”

And suddenly he’s beaming, making Crowley do something that could be described as swooning- if it were possible for a demon to do such a thing.

“Oh, good! I was worried I might be moving too fast, but with the Apocalypse being canceled- or at least delayed for now- and with what happened the other day-“

He’s stalling, Crowley suddenly realizes. Aziraphale tends to ramble when he’s stalling.

“Zira,” he says, taking him by both shoulders and bringing his words to a standstill. “What were you going to ask me?”

The angel’s eyes fall to his fidgeting fingers.

“I would like-I mean if you would be in any way interested-“ 

Still stalling.

“Aziraphale, please, for my sake, just spit it out!” 

“I want to know you, Crowley!” he exclaims, then adds quietly as if someone else might hear. “In the biblical sense.”

Crowley’s jaw nearly drops to the floor- then opens and closes several times like a damn fish while he processes what exactly this angel is asking of him.

“Y-You want to have sex with me?” he sputters finally.

Aziraphale gives him a shy smile and a small shrug.

“To put it simply- yes, I do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley gapes at Aziraphale, unable to think or speak. Worry flickers across the angel’s face at his silence.

“Oh, dear, I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” he flusters. “Crowley, let’s just forget I mentioned it-“

“No! No, no, you’ve actually done quite the opposite,” Crowley insists after his brain reboots. “It’s just that I’m not used to being on this side of things. I’m usually the one, you know, doing the propositioning.”

“Oh? How many times, then?” the angel asks.

“Uhum, 30 or 40-“

“That experienced, eh?”

“-thousand.”

Aziraphale pauses, the smirk falling from his face.

“Oh.”

Crowley shifts uncomfortably, and asks, “And you? Have you ever-“

The angel shakes his head, his eyes on the floor.

“No, not once.”

Crowley huffs and gently takes his hands in his own to stop his fidgeting.

“Zira, are you sure you want to do this? With me, especially, for your first time? This is something my lot usually tempts humans with- beastly nature and all that,” he points out.

“Humans actually tend to believe physical intimacy is one of the highest expressions of love-“ Aziraphale contends and glances up, his blue eyes peeking from beneath long, dark lashes. “-when done with the right person.”

He squeezes his hands.

“There is no one else in the universe I would choose to do this with than you, Crowley.”

There’s a long pause. This is more than Crowley could have ever hoped for- ever dream of. He’s slightly afraid if he speaks he might wake up. But he does speak.

“Alright.”

Aziraphale starts for him with a wide smile, but Crowley stops him with a raised hand.

“Hold on, angel. If we’re going to do this, we need to sort out a few things first,” he states.

“Such as?” the angel asks with raised eyebrows.

“Such as...how you would like to have sex?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrow together.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what form do you want to take? Or for me to take?” Crowley huffs. “Who do you want doing what?”

The angel shrugs.

“What do you usually do?” he inquires.

“Um, well, whatever the situation calls for, really. I’ve been with women, men, and everything in between,” he then quickly adds in response to the angel’s surprised expression. “We have been on Earth for a long time.”

“True,” Aziraphale concedes. “What do you prefer, then?”

Crowley tilts his head from side to side as he weighs the options in his head.

“I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time with men, especially when I’m the one, you know, on top,” he explains. “I suppose you could call that my preference.”

Aziraphale gives him a definitive nod.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he states. “Given also that this is my preferred form, it only makes sense that we should try it this way.”

“Are you sure, Zira? That -er- method is quite advanced,” Crowley warns.

“For millennia there have been humans who have experienced it for their first time- why shouldn’t I as well?” Aziraphale contends with a raised chin.

Crowley grins. It’s difficult to argue with that logic- especially since he himself was a participant in many of those encounters he’s referring to.

“Alright, angel, we’ll do it your way,” he relents with hooded eyes.

Crowley reaches forward to cup Aziraphale’s cheek in his palm and leans in slowly. When their lips meet it’s painfully soft, almost cautious, under the weight of freshly revealed intentions. His tongue slips out experimentally, and the angel welcomes it by parting his lips. He pulls him closer, their bodies slotting together perfectly as he dives in deeper.

Aziraphale responds enthusiastically, if not a little clumsily, and tangles his fingers in his hair. His hot breath and small gasps have a direct link to his cock stirring in his trousers as more blood rushes to its aid. He feels something similar occurring in the angel pressed firmly against his leg.

A bed- they’re going to need a bed quickly. Granted, Crowley would be absolutely ecstatic to take him right there where they stand, but he can’t do that to Aziraphale, not for his first time. No, he is determined and completely devoted to making this moment special for his angel- and to do that, he needs a bed.

A vision of his dark, damp bedroom and his black silk sheets only there for aesthetic purposes pops into his head. No, not his bed. He needs something worthy of the occasion.

Crowley snaps his fingers and walls materialize around them. Startled, Aziraphale tears his lips away to see what is causing such a commotion. A pleased smirk tugs at Crowley’s mouth at the astonishment on his face.

Candlelight bathes the newly formed room in gold with lazily swaying flames and French doors open to a balcony beneath a infinite spray of glittering stars. There’s an enormous four-poster bed against the opposite wall with a canopy of sheer golden silk wafting gently in a warm ocean breeze.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes.

“Do you like it, angel?” Crowley murmurs into his ear and nuzzles his nose into his platinum curls. He smells like sunshine.

“It’s magnificent,” he declares as Crowley travels to his neck. “Absolutely astounding.”

“I want everything to be perfect for you, angel, so when you remember this moment, it’s with fondness,” Crowley says and mouths at the soft spot behind the hinge of his jaw.

“Oh, my dear, it’s perfect,” Aziraphale praises and leans back to give him better access. “But I’m afraid I’m wearing far too much clothing for the occasion.”

Crowley smiles triumphantly against skin. He lifts his head and pulls the ends of his neat bowtie until it unravels into a simple ribbon.

“Why not just miracle my clothes off?” Aziraphale’s tone is one more of curiosity than of impatience.

“Oh, well, this part is purely for selfish reasons, I’m afraid,” Crowley confesses as he slips his long coat down his arms, followed by his vest. “I thoroughly enjoy unwrapping my gifts, angel, especially when they’re wrapped so exquisitely.”

His fingers make easy work of his buttons, though slowly, in the soft candlelight.

“I like to take my time, savor each moment as I expose them inch by inch,” he opens his belt and unfastened his trousers. “Prolonging the process only builds the anticipation, making the ultimate reveal so much sweeter.”

“S-Sounds reasonable,” Aziraphale squeaks.

Crowley watches his throat bob as he swallows. He pulls his shirt from his shoulders, and his trousers follow shortly after. He locks his gaze as he dips his fingers into the band of his undergarments and sends them to join the rest of his clothes on the floor.

“W-What now?” the angel stammers.

Crowley takes a small step back, and smirks.

“Your turn.”

Aziraphale fails to stifle his excited grin as he reaches out to unknot his tie. He slips his hands beneath his jacket and pushes it back and down his arms.

His shirt comes up and off, and Aziraphale pauses to take in the expanse of his bare torso. The angel touches his chest almost reverently, his breath shallow and his fingers trembling through his dark hair.

Crowley curls his hands over his and presses his fingertips to his lips. He closes his eyes and takes a brief second to thank whoever is responsible for this moment.

His eyes flutter open once more, and he then guides the angel to his belt buckle. His heart races as his trousers fall in a crumpled pile at his feet along with his boxer briefs.

“On the bed,” Crowley orders, his voice rough.

Aziraphale obeys without a word and lays back onto the bed. Crowley just gazes at him. His has a beautiful cock- though come to think of it, he can’t really see an angel having much need for one. Part of the package, he supposes. It’s not too big, not too small, but just right for his angel, with a gentle curve up to attention in anticipation for what’s to come. And his body- good dark _lord_ , his body is as smooth and soft as whipped cream, evidence of years of indulgence without inhibition or remorse.

“You look absolutely divine, angel,” Crowley murmurs.

Even in the dim candlelight, he sees the blush darken the angel’s cheeks. He kneels onto the bed and Aziraphale instinctively opens his legs to him.

Crowley gently runs his hand from his ankle to his thigh as plush as the sheets he’s currently sinking into. He gives it a light squeeze, just to feel the soft give under his fingers, and draws out a shallow breath from the angel beneath him. He barely remembers what it’s like to worship, but this is the closest he’s been to it in a very, very long time.

“Aziraphale,” he draws out the name like a prayer. “Are you sure?”

“There’s not a doubt in my mind,” he murmurs back, and his eyes flicker briefly to his hard cock just inches from him. “What do you need me to do?”

Crowley smiles. Always eager to help.

“Just relax, angel,” he answers. “I need to open you up a little first so I don’t hurt you.”

“Ah, alright,” Aziraphale croaks.

Crowley scoots closer as his hand continues up his leg. He very intentionally avoids his rigid shaft, those delectable balls, and travels down. When he grazes his opening, the angel gives a small jump.

“Is that alright, Zira?” he asks.

“Yes, yes, my dear,” Aziraphale assures him. “Though I’m afraid I’m slightly ticklish.”

Crowley grins again.

“Ah, perhaps this will help.”

He presses more firmly against the furrowed muscle as a clear, slippery substance oozes from his fingers.

“What is that?” Aziraphale lilts.

“Oh, just a little trick I’ve picked up over the years,” Crowley replies with a smirk.

“You wicked demon,” the angel teases.

Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath when a single finger breaches him. It slides in cautiously until Crowley reaches the third knuckle, and he gives it a gentle swirl. The angel’s responding moan encourages him to continue. He draws the finger out then back in, repeating the motion slowly, and he soon feels the muscle relax around him.

“I’m going to add another now, angel,” Crowley tells him.

Aziraphale nods his answer and another finger joins the other. This time, Crowley rotates his palm up and curls his fingers inward. He zeros in expertly on the small bundle of nerves tucked away deep inside and swipes over it. The angel starts like he’s just touched a live wire.

“What is that?” he gasps.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the prostate in a medical context,” Crowley explains. “But in this context, it’s lovingly known as the “g-spot”.”

“O-Oh,” Aziraphale breathes. “Do it again- please.”

Crowley chuckles.

“Yes, angel.”

Aziraphale is an absolute writhing, mewling mess by the time he has three fingers inserted, rubbing and pressing mercilessly on that tiny spot.

“S’good,” the angel babbles. “Mmm, s-so good.”

He whines loudly when Crowley retrieves his hand, but gives a guttural groan when he rests his full weight on top of him. Crowley dives in for a kiss, opening his mouth rather forcefully with his long tongue. The angel’s jaw drops open in welcome, and he meets his lips with incredible enthusiasm. Crowley can feel him practically vibrating beneath him. He rocks his hips forward, grinding his aching cock against the angel’s pinned between them. He swallows Aziraphale’s outcry and does it again.

“Please, Crowley! P-please,” the angel pleads, and Crowley grins against his lips.

“What, angel? What do you need?” He accentuates his question with another roll of his hips, eliciting another delicious cry. “Do you need me inside you?”

“Oh, yes! Please- yes!”

“Shhh, alright, alright,” Crowley soothes.

He’s enjoying this immensely, but he has to admit that even he is on the borderline of pleasurable and painful. Who knew having an angel begging and writhing beneath you like a damn snake is a more powerful aphrodisiac than any other known to man? But not just any angel- his angel. His Aziraphale.

Crowley steals another kiss before sitting back to maneuver the situation between them. Aziraphale hikes his legs up high, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“You are quite eager for someone who’s never done this before,” he teases as he strokes his cock, spreading the clear liquid running from his fingers along his shaft. “Are you sure you haven’t been lying to me? That’s a sin, you know.”

Aziraphale reaches for his own cock with a whine, but Crowley slaps his hand away.

“Do you mean to torture me so?” Aziraphale snaps. “Do you get some twisted satisfaction from watching me suffer?”

“As a matter of fact, angel, I do,” Crowley replies, continuing his preparation. “I love the sounds you make, the way your cheeks flush, and your eyes glaze over. Seeing you like this is more beautiful and sacred than the beginning of Creation.”

Aziraphale’s frustration evaporates in an instant, and his face softens at his words. He seems almost timid now. Satisfied with his work, Crowley leans back over him. He cups his cheek and the heat radiates in his palm as he traces his bottom lip with his thumb.

“But because you’ve been so good for me, angel, I’m going to give you what you want.”

Aziraphale bites his thumb. Crowley growls from the back of his throat and lines up against his opening. He pries open the angel’s mouth and dives in as he pushes forward carefully, his hips barely moving as the muscle slowly gives way to the pressure.

Aziraphale gasps around his kiss as he sinks in deeper. When he finally reaches the hilt, the angel is trembling in his arms.

“Zira,” the hint of panic in his voice alerts the angel immediately.

“I’m alright, I’m alright- it’s just...a little intense,” Aziraphale breathes. “Is it always like this?”

“Just in the beginning, angel. You just need a bit more time to relax,” Crowley soothes. “I’m going to move just a little to help you get use to the sensation.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale’s eyes flutter closed.

Crowley draws back his hips, only slightly, before pressing gently back in. The angel clings to him with his velvet heat like a vice grip with each movement. He spots the sweat beading on Aziraphale’s upper lip and pets at his dampening blond curls.

“Talk to me, Zira,” he murmurs.

“Something’s changing- I think I’ve almost got it, I can feel it,” he reports.

A few more shallow movements and the ring of muscle nearly strangling him begins to soften.

“Oooh,” Aziraphale rumbles.

He opens his legs wider and Crowley sinks in completely, no longer constrained by his tight channel. His head spins as he melts like warm chocolate around him.

“Oh, angel,” he croaks.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers. “Please move.”

Crowley didn’t even notice he had stopped his mind is swirling so fast. So soft. So hot. So delicious. He rolls his hips back a little more than before and sinks in. He repeats the motion, encouraged by the soft mewling from the angel beneath him.

His arms shake with the power he fights to restrain. This is Aziraphale’s first time he reminds himself. He’s far too tender and vulnerable to take what he could unleash. Instead he focuses on a steady rhythm that’s firm but still quite gentle.

“Oh, Crowley, yes, yes,” the angel purrs.

He gazes up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. His pupils are blown wide and black and his cheeks are flushed the same shade of pink as his swollen lips. Crowley’s heart stutters at the sight. He leans down to kiss those lips, which match his feverish need as he slides in and out again and again. He relishes the give and pull of his pliant opening and the sharp tug of his fingers in his hair. The angel’s sounds spilling out between kisses are holier than the heavenly choruses he vaguely remembers from a life millennia ago. Their sweat-slick bodies slot together like pieces of a puzzle, so perfect and tight.

He’s going to combust- from the strain of holding back or from the pleasure overwhelming his mind- he’s not certain.  
Crowley dips his head and pulls in a calming breath.

“Please don’t stop, my love.”

His head snaps up as a shock runs through him and he does stop- or at least slightly falters. His eyes are wide.

“What did you say?”

“Don’t stop?” Aziraphale offers.

“No- what was it you just called me?”

“My love?”

He stares down into those impossibly blue eyes.

“Say it again.”

Aziraphale’s face visibly softens and he reaches up to stroke his cheek.

“My love,” he says again.

Crowley groans, rebooting his rhythm with a surge of excited energy.

“My love.”

Crowley hugs him against his chest, effectively holding him in place, and quickens his pace.

“My love,” this one the angel accentuates with a squeeze that nearly blinds him.

He’s pounding into him now, far more than he ever intended for the angel’s first time, but Aziraphale’s cries hold nothing but pure pleasure.

“My, lo- oh, _fuck_ ,” the angel wails into his neck.

The strangled waver in his voice sends a jolt right to his cock, and he gets the sudden urge to mark him. Heaven and Hell be damned- he’s mine.

Crowley bites his shoulder hard. Aziraphale throws his head back into the plush sheets with a shout, but his hips begin to move to meet each unrelenting thrust.

“Again,” Aziraphale orders. “Please.”

Crowley’s cock throbs almost painfully and he obeys. He bites his neck, his chest, and zeros in on a blush pink nipple. He nips and sucks at the fleshy nub without missing a beat. The angel whimpers under the onslaught.

“Yes, right there, my love,” he pants while gripping his hair. “Fuck, right there!”

The head of his shaft swipes against the small treasure tucked deep inside his angel again, and he’s rewarded with a squeeze from that fantastically strong ring of muscle.

Fuck, he’s going to come. Building in the pit of his stomach, it’s only moments away. Crowley pulls his mouth from him with an obscene sound and pins his head back by a handful of curls.

“I’m going to make you come, angel,” he growls.

Aziraphale’s eyes roll up as he arches his back in answer. Crowley grins and shifts the angle of his hips. Each thrust strikes the bundle of nerves dead-center and the angel clings to him for dear life.

Aziraphale stiffens and sticky warmth blooms between them as he cries out. His channel clutches Crowley with an iron grip, sparking the fuse to his own release. He buries his face into the angel’s neck to stifle his shout. Light explodes behind closed eyelids and radiates throughout his entire body from the crown of his head to his curled toes.

Crowley collapses completely onto the angel beneath him as his chest rises and falls with labored breath. A flood of euphoria washes over him, drowning him. Before he realizes what’s happening, an intense ache in his throat cracks and tears are streaming down his face. His body trembles with his sobs and the angel shifts beneath him. Aziraphale wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders and strokes the back of his head while he whispers soothing words into his ear like “It’s alright, my love” and “I’ve got you”.

Crowley manages to compose himself somewhat a few moments later and lifts his head to look down at the angel. His breath catches in his throat. Aziraphale is quite literally glowing in an aura of soft golden light. He’s like a star shining happily in the night.

“I don’t normally do that, you know,” Crowley sniffs and wipes the wetness from his face with the back of his hand.

Aziraphale catches his chin with his fingertips.

“You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, Crowley,” he states and brushes away a tear he had missed. “You’re quite lovely when you’re vulnerable.”

Crowley’s cheeks burn with his words.

“You don’t have to insult me,” he teases.

Aziraphale tugs him down into a deep, giggly kiss. It’s a few blissful moments later when they finally part, breathless and deliriously happy.

Crowley brushes away a stray curl from the angel’s face as if he might break under the weight of his fingers.

“My angel,” he murmurs. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

The angel scoffs.

“Look what you’ve done to me!” Aziraphale chuckles and nods down. “I’m glowing!”

“Yeah, what’s all that about? Do angel’s normally do that?” Crowley inquires.

“No- well, not that I know of, but then again, there’s never been an angel who’s engaged in physical intimacy,” Aziraphale answers.

Crowley balks.

“Never? How was that Jesus lad conceived then?”

“Divine intervention. My kind has the ability to just- make it happen- without all the human mechanics.”

“Well, I’d say our way is much more fun,” Crowley smirks.

He glances down at the angel still glowing like a candle.

“So?”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows.

“So...?

“So, what do you think, first-ever-angel-to-be-defiled?” Crowley asks, them adds, “By a demon, no less.”

The angel’s face cracks into a broad smile and his aura brightens.

“Oh, where do I begin? It was absolutely incredible- _perfect_ -“

Crowley smirks again.

“I think that might just be the after -uh- glow talking,” he says.

“No, truly!” Aziraphale insists. “I just had the most spiritual experience of my life, and that’s including my time in Heaven.”

The angel sighs dreamily.

“It was so...so-“

Crowley seizes his opportunity.

“Ineffable?”

Aziraphale just beams.

“Absolutely,” he confirms. “Completely and utterly ineffable.”

They both laugh. An intoxicating mix of love and joy swells in Crowley’s chest. He leans down for a kiss.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he says against his lips. “With everything I am.”

“And I love you, Crowley,” the angel replies. “More than words could ever describe.”

And his aura glows even brighter.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley is gently coaxed from the depths of sleep by churning waves and sunshine. He stretches the entire length of his body like a cat, relishing soft sheets against his bare skin, and a flood of memories from the night before spill into his mind. He welcomes each one of them and reaches for the other side of the bed.

Empty. 

His eyes finally pop open. 

Yes, definitely empty. 

He sits up in alarm, but calms in an instant when he spots Aziraphale on the balcony. He watches him tickle the leaves of the vine growing around the archway. Crowley feels the stupid grin on his face, but he doesn’t care. He’s with his angel. 

He slides out of bed and wraps a sheet around his hips. Normally he’d be more than happy to go ah natural, but Aziraphale is still an angel- modesty, and all that. Best to play it safe for now he decides. 

He saunters toward the open French doors and snaps his fingers. Two cups of fresh tea materialize in each hand. Aziraphale glances up as he nears with a smile brighter than the morning sun.

“Crowley, look! Oh, thank you,” he accepts the cup handed to him and gestures with it to the vine. “It’s almost ready to bloom!”

Crowley arches an eyebrow.

“Almost?” 

He glowers at the vine, putting as much hellish wrath as he can muster into one look. The closed buds open immediately all along the leaves in a waterfall of orange and yellow. 

“Oh, my love, it’s wonderful,” Aziraphale praises. 

They each sip at their tea as the angel admires the vibrant petals and as Crowley admires a sight far more beautiful than any plant. Aziraphale, noticing his gaze, then motions to the thin robe currently wrapped around himself.

“I found this in the closet. I hope you don’t mind,” he says.

“I made this entire place for you, angel,” Crowley explains. “That is for you, especially.”

Aziraphale gives him a shy smile.

“It is quite nice. I do like how it feels against my-“

Crowley cocks an eyebrow at him over the rim of his cup. Aziraphale smooths the robe and clears his throat.

“I like how it feels,” he finishes.

Crowley grins as color rushes to his cheeks. One of the small joys in life is a flustered Aziraphale, and it’s just his luck it’s so easy to do. The angel takes another sip as a distraction.

“You know, this tastes exactly like the tea I have at that little cafe in Marseille!” he tells him.

“That’s because it is from that little cafe in Marseille,” Crowley confirms.

“Oh?”

“Well, let’s just say there’s a very confused couple dining there right now,” Crowley says with a wink. 

“You fiend.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

“Never.” 

They sip again as the ocean crashes to the beach below. Crowley notices a dark spot peeking from beneath the angel’s robe. He reaches up to push it back and reveals a purple crescent bruise in the crook of his neck. It conjures a vivid image of how and when the wound was created and his cock stirs.

“Are you not healing properly, Zira?” He asks as he traces it with his fingers. “I didn’t know you could actually mark up an angel.”

The color of the angel’s cheeks deepen. They might have a problem soon if he keeps being so damn cute.

“You can’t, actually,” he replies. “I just happened to, well- I like them, so I left them.”

“Oh?”

Crowley’s fingers run along the edge of his robe, opening it more as he goes. The marks trail down his neck and pepper across his chest, marring his exquisitely smooth, pale skin. He stirs again at the row of teethmarks indented around his nipple.

“It’s good I’m not venomous,” Crowley says with a wicked smile.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale breathes. 

Crowley swoops in for a kiss, barely giving the angel time to move his teacup out of the way. 

“Wait! Wait!” Aziraphale giggles and sets it on the ledge of the balcony. 

Crowley coils his arms around his middle and presses into his lips again for another taste of his angel. Properly unburdened, Aziraphale’s hands twist in his hair, swallowing him deeper into the kiss. The warmth of his body seeps into his skin through the thin layer of his robe and he now regrets his choice with the sheet. When they finally break for a proper breath, Aziraphale’s lips are already swelling from the abuse. Crowley gently pushes a curl from his face and drops his hand down to caress his flushed cheek. 

“I would give you my soul of it was anything of worth,” he murmurs. 

Aziraphale turns his head to kiss his palm.

“And I would gladly take it,” the angel murmurs back. “For it means more to me than the world.”

Crowley’s chest swells so intensely it boarders on painful as he gazes down into those ineffable blue eyes. 

“Brunch?” he offers.

“Absolutely.” 

Crowley kisses him again, realizing he’s becoming quite addicted to doing so. He mouths along his jaw up to his ear, and he smiles at the sound the angel makes when he nibbles on the lobe- something between a giggle and a squeal.

“I’m rarely one to rush a meal, but let’s make it a swift one,” Aziraphale pants. “I find my appetite is growing considerably for something other than food.”

Crowley growls into his neck and gives it a soft nip. 

“Anything, angel,” he says. “We have all the time in the world.”


End file.
